there's catastrophe in everything i'm touching
by slash mania
Summary: "Knew there's a reason I love you. I've got this feeling, Eames, this idea that I could just track you down among the pines!" The look in Arthur's eyes was both carnivorous and lusting. Those eyes darkened and narrowed as Arthur growled, "I'm hungry like the wolf, Eames."
A.N: This is one day late, but I'm glad to have finally finished it. With the encouragement of Tabi_essentially, I wrote a story based on the Ludo song "The Horror of Our Love", which she had mentioned was a Ludo song that her "Wartime Verse" Arthur would enjoy. Please read her series because it's amazing!

Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. I also don't own Ludo. I make two references to "Wartime Verse" within this fic, more like an homage than anything else (Fans of that verse might recognize _zombies_ or Arthur saying 'I'm hungry like the wolf.' For the second one, I felt that it fit the Ludo lyrics too well. I also don't own Doctor Who's Weeping Angels or "Blackbird" by the Beatles!

there's catastrophe in everything i'm touching

It started a couple of weeks ago when Arthur complained of not sleeping well. Soon, that changed from _not sleeping well_ to _not sleeping at all_.

Eames was concerned.

* * *

"Will you show me?" Eames asked as he held Arthur against his chest, able to feel the hammering of his heart, how his breathing was finally slowing down and becoming something normal.

"It's just a nightmare."

"Nightmares are normal, healthy even. But to have one every single night? No, something's wrong."

Arthur said nothing, not agreeing or disagreeing with Eames. He had yet to relax against him, though. Even though Arthur wasn't facing him, Eames was certain that the point man was wearing _that_ look on his face.

The one he wore whenever Eames asked about this, or was concerned about it, or offered to get help. Whenever he suggested that they go to Yusuf, or even to Cobb, Arthur would clam up.

"What if I went down with you? You won't build the dream, just let it go unstructured and natural. We won't use Somnacin or sedation, either."

Eames pressed a chaste kiss to the back of Arthur's neck, smoothing the point man's stray locks of sleep-mussed hair out of his eyes. He could feel Arthur begin to relax at the touch of his hands.

"You're going to try and extract from me?" Arthur's speech was slowing down, getting softer. "Gonna try and see the face of my nightmares?"

"While your conscious mind doesn't want to acknowledge it upfront, your subconscious mind is practically _screaming_ about it. Something is bothering you."

Arthur hummed a little and reached for Eames's hand, which was still petting Arthur's hair. He tugged that hand down and held it in his own. Eames waited for it, he knew that Arthur was going to say _something._

"It's-," Arthur stopped and started, trying to find the right words. "You can't tell Cobb."

Eames frowned. "I'll always honor your right to privacy, darling. I won't tell Cobb."

But he stopped himself from adding, _but what is it that you don't want Cobb to know?_

"I feel so stupid."

"You're not."

"I know that! It's just that when we'd dream together for jobs and _she'd_ show up, I tried to get him to handle it. I tried to get him to open up about _why_ she was always there." Arthur huffed out a short but not-so honest laugh. "In real life she had been lovely. But Cobb's subconscious twisted her into something that ruined all of his plans and found interesting ways to cause me pain."

Eames's mouth went dry.

"You're having dreams- _nightmares_ \- that feature Mal?"

 _Dead Mal? Mad Mal? Cobb's murderous shade of the wife he had incepted and_ driven crazy _?_

"Yes, Eames. And that's why you can't tell Cobb."

Eames did quick calculations, thinking back. He recalled that Arthur was supposed to take a job with Cobb; something legal and easy. But that Arthur had canceled on him, saying that something else had come up. Apparently, the object of Arthur's nightmares was manifesting within shared dreams.

"I'm not going to be the one responsible for having him fall into a tailspin of renewed grief and guilt. I didn't want him to spot her and assume that he's backsliding, previous catharsis or not."

Arthur was going to say more, working himself up and ruining any progress they had made towards bringing him down from the horror of his dream.

Eames squeezed Arthur's hand, distracting him. "Hey, stop it. Take a deep breath and let go of the idea that you're going to change anything for Cobb. This doesn't concern Cobb. This concerns you, me, and the woman who was once the man's wife."

Arthur nodded quickly. "Right."

"And tomorrow, we're going to try and take care of this."

Arthur laughed. This one was real, honest, something that made Eames feel better to hear.

"It's 'We' rather than 'I' or 'you'?"

"Though it's something going on in your head, darling, it affects the two of us. Remember what we agreed on so long ago?"

Arthur turned, changing their positions so that now as they held each other they could see each other. Eames was immediately put at ease by Arthur's smile, but couldn't help but notice the dark circles under the point man's eyes or how tired he was.

"That we're together."

"And?"

"We don't lie to each other, don't hide things, and always face a problem as a team."

Eames leaned in, kissing the spot just under Arthur's left eye; as if a tender, loving touch would soothe away the shadow he saw there. Even though it did nothing, he did the same for the right eye just to make Arthur's smile widen.

"And we do this because?"

"We want our super dream team to work properly." Arthur cuddled in closer, something that he would deny that he liked with his very last breath! The best point man, immortalized in song and legend after the success of the Fischer job, didn't cuddle. But in the privacy of _their_ bedroom, it was fine. "And for some ungodly reason, we are hopelessly attracted to one another."

"Of course," Eames grinned, "How couldn't I love you, you silly bastard?"

"You say the sweetest things, Mr. Eames" was Arthur's deadpan reply.

* * *

Eames had asked that he not be primed for what to expect in Arthur's dream. He wanted to form his own interpretations.

"Don't give me a review of your nightmares, love," Eames said as he took Arthur's hand, minding the tubing from their PASIV, his free hand reaching out to where he had left the open PASIV on a chair beside their bed. "Just lead me through your dreamscape."

Arthur nodded quickly, signaling that he was ready to go under. Eames pressed the button and dropped heavily into a deep sleep with Arthur at his side.

When he opened his eyes he found himself in a graveyard. Alone.

"Damn, I've lost him…"

Eames looked around him and found that this graveyard was much larger than any he was familiar with- that the headstones stretched for miles in each direction. An infinite graveyard…

Thankfully he had been dropped in the center.

He looked at the stones and noticed that each one, each and every single one that he could see, had a note attached to it.

Walking to the nearest one, Eames examined the headstone and the note. The headstone was old and weathered but didn't have a name inscribed on it. When he looked at the note, he noticed that the paper was familiar.

"That paper looks like it came out of my moleskin."

Eames jumped when he heard that voice, spinning around to catch sight of the speaker.

It was only Arthur, wearing a heavier jacket and a pair of gloves. Eames was startled when he finally noticed the biting cold, the way each breath steamed in the air. He dreamed up a thicker coat to wear, turned up the collar, and tried to get back to work.

Arthur walked to his side, appearing to not be so perturbed by the dreamscape.

"I've been here before," Arthur said, looking around. "It's gotten a lot bigger."

"Is it based off of a graveyard you've visited or is this something from your nightmare?"

Eames caught Arthur's expression before turning his head back to the nearest stone. He was fine, but he nodded and said, "Nightmare."

Then, "What's with all the paper? A note on every headstone…it's kind of macabre."

"Love notes. Hundreds upon hundreds of love notes, darling. All in your handwriting, written with your favorite ink, on paper that you prefer"

Now, this made Arthur laugh. "And what do they say?"

Eames looked at the nearest one again and read aloud, though he really wished he hadn't.

" _Dear Eames- I'm a killer, cold and wrathful. I'd fill the graveyards until I have you. Love, Arthur._ "

Eames waited for Arthur's response. This note was definitely strange- first, Arthur never wrote Eames love notes. Second, this 'I'm a killer' opening line appeared to be more of a personal assessment. This caught and held Eames's attention. Sure, Arthur could be terrifying in his own right. Eames would always remember that _look_ he caught while they were in the taxi, getting attacked by Fischer's personal dream army on the first level. Arthur wasn't someone to be taken lightly- anyone that decided he wasn't lethal would only realize their mistake when Arthur taught them otherwise. Even if it cost them broken bones or other grisly injuries that Arthur was too polite to talk about in mixed company. Or at breakfast because at the start of their _this is so much more than getting-off together_ relationship, Eames made it clear that the breakfast table wasn't a place for conversations that began with "-and I took the fucker's arm and _twisted_ it till I heard something pop."

Eames was certain that he didn't have to remind Arthur that he already had him; that he was Arthur's one hundred percent or that he was proudly rooting for Team Arthur! But Arthur's subconscious meant something else by this.

"I don't like the symbolism of this," Arthur was saying as he reached for one of the notes, not even certain how the notes were attached to the headstones. "If the graveyard goes on forever with more and more headstones appearing, how will I ever have you?"

Eames was going to say that it didn't matter.

And then, as Arthur's fingers touched the note it slipped off of the headstone and shifted, changing from white to black, becoming a bird and flying away.

Startled, Arthur stepped back, moving closer to Eames. Together they watched as the notes on the stones before them began to fall off like the first did, changed color and turned into screaming blackbirds.

Flying together, the birds joined as a flock.

Wherever they looked, the notes fell from the stones and became blackbirds, all joining the flock above their heads, making it grow and grow! The sound of the birds calling was deafening, their wing beats were like thunder!

Arthur watched the swirling, flapping cloud of birds, mystified by their display. Farther in the distance he could see more of those notes transforming into blackbirds. He reached for Eames's hand and held on tight, as if he were worried that he'd be picked up and changed into a bird, forced to join the flock.

Eames was doing a very quick, very basic analysis. In the short hand of his mind, his thoughts jumped and spun from image to image. If it were on paper, it would read: _white paper- hope, purity, faithfulness/ changes to black- negative, opposite, depression, evil, fear/ bird- freedom, thought/ bird (in flight)- Jung: birds in flight as moving or changing thoughts/ blackbird- bad omen (debatable). Preliminary conclusion- Arthur's changing thoughts of attaining/keeping love, from hopeful to fearful tied to self-image. Birds are free, his thoughts in motion (changing his mind?)_

Eames blinked hard, shaking his head as if to clear it. It was too early to use any of that. He ignored most of it, ignored some of the underlying meanings he had found. He also ignored the small, scared part of him that said _you are rarely wrong_ and _maybe_ _he doesn't love you as much as you love him_.

It was much too soon for any of that.

He watched the birds that now covered the sky, making it black and ominous. He watched as they began to shift their positions, changing their directions as if it was choreographed- like each bird knew what direction it was meant to turn or how fast to fly. When they got into the correct formation, Eames gasped when some of the birds changed their colors again; their feathers becoming a sooty-brown, their throats becoming brownish-white.

"The females," Arthur was saying, watching the display in fascination. "The males are black, the females are mostly brown."

And then, Arthur was laughing as he noticed their formation, their patterns!

"It's _Two Birds!_ "

Eames couldn't help but laugh as well. Trust Arthur to dream up Escher's art.

The birds became art in motion, flying over the graveyard they had been created in.

Maybe Eames shouldn't view this as negative. Their colors have changed again- there's dissension in Arthur's thoughts. One goes one way, the other another. Arthur must make a choice between two ideas. Yes or no, good or bad, forwards or back?

But where was Mal in all this?

Then the dream ended, their five minutes up.

* * *

Arthur was a little more optimistic for their second attempt.

Well, he was optimistic until he noticed where his subconscious had placed him.

"Not here."

Sweat began to collect on his brow- he wiped it away and clenched his totem in his fist.

 _This isn't real._

But he looked up and saw the tall, tall building; Cobb and Mal's hotel, the one they went to for their anniversary. And if he turned around he'd see her. _He knew he'd see her._ From his position on the empty street he could see Cobb on the ledge, trying to talk Mal down.

Though they were high up, Arthur could hear them as clearly as if he were sitting on either of their window ledges. He clenched his eyes shut.

If he looked to his left he'd see that she'd already dropped her shoe. They were already going back and forth- Dom's begging her to come down off the ledge, to remember the children and Mal's calmly describing how she'd framed her husband for murder. And that stupid riddle.

Arthur could hear it, and even though he knew what was going to happen he silently wished that it wouldn't be so. That maybe this time it would be fine.

But Arthur had this dream a lot. Even though he hadn't actually been present for this, the way that Cobb described the event had been particularly memorable.

"Darling?"

Arthur refused to open his eyes, even as he felt Eames come closer.

"She's gonna jump, Eames. And there's nothing I can do."

Eames was cupping his cheek in one hand, soothing him. "It's a dream, Arthur. You could change it if you wanted."

Arthur shook his head. "No, no. It won't matter if I save her. She's still dead. Dead in the ground and buried. Soon she's gonna jump and die."

"Open your eyes, darling! Do it now!"

And against his instincts, against his wishes, Arthur did as Eames asked. Because Eames cared, Eames understood. He would never do something to purposely hurt him.

He opened his eyes and looked at Eames. Relief flooded the other man's face.

"I almost couldn't find you. You didn't build this, you didn't set the stage. Is this what you've been dreaming of?"

Before Arthur could say yes, he heard Cobb's yell of _Mal, no! Jesus Christ!_

Arthur turned. He'd watched her fall before, he'd watched her fall a dozen times in his other nightmares- he'd been frozen to the spot, forced to watch her fall, crash, bleed, and die. Over and over.

But Eames had already said it, hadn't he? Maybe he could change it.

There she was! Falling so fast, her clothing rustling, her dark hair flying! He watched and watched and thought, with startling clarity _she just wants to be free, all she wants is to fly._

He blinked and held his breath as her body disintegrated into a flock of blackbirds that swooped down, diving towards the pavement before defying death and pulling upwards, taking to the sky.

"They aren't screaming."

"What?" Arthur asked, unable to take his eyes away from the dark birds, already so far away from them.

"They're singing!"

And they were; the blackbirds were singing a melody that they would never had learned in nature. Arthur almost hummed along. _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly._

* * *

This time when they woke, Arthur needed to have some time to himself.

He was rattled, trying to hide the way his hands shook when he held a glass of water.

But Eames wasn't going to say anything. He had more to consider now. Mal wasn't haunting Arthur in the same way that she had haunted Cobb- for Cobb she was a shade, an actual representation of Cobb's guilt over what he had done. For Arthur, her presence was like a lesson. Like most things in dreams, she was symbolic of something else. But what did Mal represent for Arthur?

Arthur had been open with Eames about his relationship with the Cobb's- his admiration of Cobb and his love for Mal. That they both treated Arthur like an associate, their valued point man- but with Mal, there was always caring and love in abundance. That it should have made Arthur feel ridiculous, but instead, he'd craved that attention like he had been starving for it.

Their pasts weren't hidden- they had no secrets from each other, after all. Arthur's childhood wasn't horrible, he wasn't neglected, but Mal was able to evoke such a strong response in him anyway.

She wasn't perfect, as Arthur was quick to add, but was still a beautiful and smart woman in spite of those faults. According to Arthur, she had a quick temper, she bit her nails, forgot to throw out the milk when it went bad, and didn't plan very far into the future. Arthur would help her with some of these things, even if it was as simple as throwing out the spoiled milk when he noticed it first, reminding Mal of important things like her appointments or when a bill was due. He had more trouble with her temper, which flared under stress, but always received a heartfelt apology when he had caught her in the middle of a bad job or bad day. He would never, ever be able to do anything about the nail-biting, not that he cared- they were _her_ fingernails, after all.

When he mentioned this to Eames, the forger had frowned and asked, "Are you sure you're not a personal assistant?"

They clearly had a mutual dependence. Arthur was dependable. He was a rock! But who does your rock turn to when _he_ needs reassurance and care? Who does your rock turn to when his best friend and obvious mother-figure dies horribly?

So, Mal- mother, friend, the person Arthur wished to protect and care for just as she cared for him. Guilt wasn't the right word for what Arthur had experienced in the last dream, but Eames couldn't shake the idea that what hurt Arthur more was the sense of failure. That, before, he had a chance to change things but couldn't. Eames hoped that urging Arthur to save Mal this time would help him shake this demon.

He had a feeling that this wasn't over.

* * *

When they tried again, the first words out of Arthur's mouth were:

"If dreams are all about wish fulfillment, why am I _not_ having dirty sex with you in church?"

Eames considered this, looking around the empty church they had wandered into.

Personally, Eames could find lots and lots of motivations for wanting to get down and dirty in a place of worship; the devilish idea of committing a sinful act in church, if the church was full of people waiting for a service there could definitely be some exhibitionism, and so on and so on.

Instead, Eames smiled and said, "All you have to do is ask."

Arthur tackled Eames to the ground; the fall hurt, but Eames didn't notice much because Arthur was trying to work his hand down the front of Eames's pants. To be helpful, Eames raised his hand and quickly snapped his fingers. Voila! In a snap, Eames had provided them with instant nudity!

Already straddling his hips, Arthur leaned over Eames's prone body, flashing his even, white teeth.

"Knew there's a reason I love you. I've got this feeling, Eames, this idea that I could just track you down among the pines!" The look in Arthur's eyes was both carnivorous and lusting. Those eyes darkened and narrowed as Arthur _growled_ , " _I'm hungry like the wolf, Eames._ "

* * *

"Arthur."

"Less talking, more necking."

"Not that I don't adore your persistence- _good God, do that again-_ ," Eames had to clear his throat and start again. "Um, but there's something wrong."

Arthur stopped what he was doing and gave him a look that was less addled with lust.

"What? Was it something I said? I get it, I get it- it was so, so creepy when I said I wanted to climb inside you, but I thought that you'd get my meaning."

"Not that."

"What about when I said I wanted to grind against your bones until our marrows mix? Or the one about eating you slowly?"

Eames shook his head and pointed at one of the statues in the church…really, it was more of a cathedral now that Eames thought about it. But he was getting away from himself.

"I don't remember that being there."

Arthur turned his head to the left and looked at it. It was a statue of an angel. Not an unusual object to find within a church. What was Eames going on about?

"It wasn't there before. Look at it, Arthur! Look at it!"

Arthur sighed and did so- he noticed that it had actually moved closer…somehow.

He was about to look down at Eames again, when the man forced him to hold his position, and continue looking to the left at the angel that was covering its face with both of its stone hands. Then Arthur understood.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No, darling! Don't blink!"

"Really?"

"It's not my fault," Eames hissed. "This is your dream about kinky sex in a cathedral. You already had statues in here. _You_ have unconsciously given us something to fight, something that is damn near immortal!"

"And fictional!"

Eames was forcing himself into a sitting position, carefully moving around Arthur so as not to jostle him or break his concentration. When he managed it he turned his back to the statue Arthur was staring at so he could scout around for more. And he found some- these were clearly from outside- covering their faces, the three statues that had made their way inside the cathedral were eroded. The first was missing the tip from one of its wings, another had lost a hand, the third was covered in bits of lichen and bird droppings.

Eames was frightened. He couldn't believe it. He was frightened!

"Fucking Weeping Angels. You seduce me in a cathedral that is the home of fucking Weeping Angels! You know what would make this better, darling?"

"Satanic rituals at the altar?" Arthur asked, sounding like he was trying very hard not to laugh at Eames and his fear of the Weeping Angels.

Eames's eyes were starting to burn from not blinking, the urge was too strong. He considered what he would have put on his headstone. _Here lies Eames, who died after Arthur stuck his hand down his pants, fatally distracting him from the Weeping Angels.  
_

"You could have chosen something normal," Eames said, cursing himself for introducing Arthur to the wonder of Doctor Who! "We could have had zombies! But, no! I don't get zombies, do I? Apparently, I don't _deserve_ zombies! No, for some reason, you need to cockblock yourself with Weeping Angels!"

Arthur was really laughing now.

"I swear, if you close your eyes while you're laughing, I'm going to kill you!"

Then, he heard a _woosh_ then the sound of Arthur's laughter cut-short. The point man had most definitely vanished.

Eames didn't have time to run away; there would be no trying to turn and catch the monstrous Weeping Angel's gaze, forcing it to quantum-lock. He was outnumbered.

Within a half-second, Arthur's Weeping Angel touched Eames, making the forger disappear from the cathedral, throwing him to a time long before his birth.

Hopefully he'd end up in the same place as Arthur.

* * *

"The room changed."

Eames was moping on the grass. Arthur was at his side, musing over their situation.

"No, it didn't. Our _time_ changed. We were thrown _backwards_ in time by Weeping Angels. I blame you, darling."

Arthur leaned back onto his elbows and shot Eames a look, his eyebrows raised and smile bright. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

Eames huffed, feeling bad but not ready to talk it out. Fucking Weeping Angels!

"Does this mean we aren't going to try having sex in inappropriate places?"

"Yes."

Arthur's smile widened. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Eames let the silence drag. The place they had been deposited wasn't so bad, Eames supposed. It was a grassy cliff face that overlooked the ocean. That maybe they could find their way down and explore or splash in the surf if they wanted to.

He let the tranquil scene and fresh air do wonders for his bad mood. He took a deep, cleansing breath and looked at Arthur again.

"So, do you feel any better about what's been happening?"

Arthur pushed himself into a seated position, plucking at blades of grass.

"No true catharsis has been achieved, right? I'd notice that. My conflict hasn't been resolved yet…" Arthur looked over at Eames, curious. "Any ideas?"

Eames thought about it, weighing everything except for the surprise Weeping Angel attack.

"You wanted to protect Mal- even as she tried to jump in your dream, you acknowledged that she would die, that she was truly dead topside. But you still transformed her into a flock of blackbirds. She's not haunting you; she's constantly serving as a reminder."

Arthur said nothing, waiting for Eames to continue with his thoughts.

"In your mind, you create this graveyard, right? But you make it endless so that for every grave you leave me a love note on, there will always be another. Your words of 'I'll fill the graveyards until I have you' seem to indicate that there is something stopping you from attaining this goal."

"But I _do_ have you."

"Not according to your subconscious. The notes you touch turn from white to black; they turn into blackbirds. Now, birds have many different meanings within dreams, but Jung likened birds in flight to moving or changing thoughts. Whatever your notes represent, whether it's your thoughts on our relationship or feelings about your self-image, I think that they're starting to change. It's hopeful, even if your tessellation of male and female blackbirds seems to be hinting at indecision. How many times have you seen that image in your dreams?"

Arthur shrugged. "Often. I was worried because I thought they were crows. But I looked them up and know the difference now."

Eames was thinking about their current dream, or the dream they had just segued from.

"Aside from the creepy statues, I'd say that you want to be closer to me."

"Nope, it's just creepy. It was a creepy Arthur-just-might-be-a-cannibalistic-sex-fiend sort of dream. You can try to sell it to me as a representation of how much I love you, that I want to be closer, and that we're already so tied up with each other in dreamshare, but I firmly believe my own opinion."

Eames laughed but looked down at the beach. Something had caught his eye.

He had been wondering where Mal had gone, if she was going to appear again. There she was.

He grabbed for Arthur's arm, pointing at the specter on the beach.

That's what she looked like- her skin was a faint blue, but she walked with as much grace as she had in life. She looked up and up, spotting them on the cliff, perhaps?

Eames snorted. What else could she be looking at?

She was Arthur's projection, stalking the shores of Arthur's mind, the wind making the material of her nightgown flutter around her body.

Mal, (what was left of Mal, what remained of her in Arthur's subconscious) turned away and walked directly into the surf, not appearing to mind the temperature of the water or the crashing waves.

Arthur was staring down at her, frowning as he noted her progress.

"I should follow her," Arthur looked at Eames, "I think I should go alone for this one."

Eames could read between the lines here; whatever Arthur was close to figuring out, he wanted privacy. He couldn't deny Arthur that.

Eames let go of Arthur's arm, releasing him. "Be safe," he said, and as an afterthought, he added, "Come back to me, okay?"

Arthur pulled him into a kiss, soft and sweet, twining his hands through the other man's hair. It was like he was saying everything he wanted to say with touch alone. He was certain that Eames could read him like Braille, he was sure that they spoke the same ancient language.

"As if I could possibly resist you- you forget that we're practically magnetic, that we don't quite know where I end and you begin in this relationship."

"There's room for a very dirty joke in that sentence," Eames said before stealing another kiss from Arthur.

The point man smiled but pushed Eames away after a moment. He finally forced himself to his feet. From this vantage point he could no longer see where Mal was.

Not seeing another way down, Arthur thought of the way he had transformed Mal as she fell in the dream before. But maybe not blackbirds, for him. Those had been Mal's favorites.

He smiled to himself and took a running jump off of the cliff.

As he fell he turned into a riotous flock of birds, all crying out at once.

When Eames spotted the type of birds Arthur had transformed himself into, he laughed aloud!

Instead of blackbirds, Arthur had fallen as a flock of crows.

"Of course you'd want to be a _murder_ , darling."

He watched the murder of crows fly swiftly to the water, collecting again to form his favorite point man now clad in appropriate swimwear. Arthur dove from the sky into the deeper waters of the ocean to find a dead woman.

* * *

Arthur didn't question this. He was swimming, feeling strong, taking deep breaths under the water and somehow not drowning.

He swam out deeper but was still on the continental shelf.

And there she was!

Walking the continental shelf, Mal was surrounded by large and menacing sharks. Their dead eyes and sharp teeth didn't appear to bother her. They were attracted by her presence, flirting around her but not daring to touch- she was a dream among the sharks, still beautiful and terrifying.

Arthur swam to her, keeping an eye on the man-eaters that were so, so close.

"Mal," Arthur said, trying it out, seeing if he really could manage speaking under the water half as well as breathing. It wasn't distorted; it didn't come out like a bubble that needed to be popped to release his words. Bizarre, but handy.

"Mal, what are you doing here? Why do I keep seeing you in my dreams?"

The dead woman watched him, her eyes just as flat as the sharks that surrounded her.

Arthur thought to himself, quick and sure, _this is a projection of her- this is a projection of Mal, but you're really just talking to yourself. What are you trying to say, huh?_

Then he remembered what Eames said, before: _She's not haunting you; she's constantly serving as a reminder._

Mal was dead, she had died because of her husband's foolishness and her own madness.

"You know what happened," Mal was saying, enunciating clearly. Her hair was floating free in the water- in a gesture Arthur recalled with a pang of sadness, he watched her tuck the floating strands of hair behind her ears. "I told you to be careful. This is dangerous."

Arthur recalled a similar conversation. It had been such a long time ago and thinking about it now made him feel ancient.

 _You give too much,_ was what she said as she held him in her arms. _What will you keep for yourself?_

 _I've always got my reputation_ , Arthur had said mockingly.

 _Nothing to keep you warm, nothing to make you whole_ , she'd chided, tsking. _You must be careful._

At the time, Arthur had thought Mal was practicing one of her 'Mom' speeches- Phillipa was more than a twinkle in her eye at that point. But Mal was always very protective of him. Despite his age, she treated him almost as well as a son. It was one of the reasons why it hurt so much to have her image turn on him in Cobb's grief stricken, guilty mind.

"The future frightens you, doesn't it?" Mal was saying, just as gentle as she had been in the past. "But you face it; you face it bravely and take whatever comes your way. My sweet Arthur, you know he won't hurt you."

"Everyone gets hurt, no matter how well they are loved. Look at how much Dom loved _you_!"

Mal nodded, not arguing. "You have long since committed to Mr. Eames, but it still frightens you?"

Arthur nodded quickly. "I give him power over me, he knows my secrets, and I love him dearly…"

Mal smiled. "And he has done the same. Who else would have volunteered to help you fight your nightmares?"

She was right. Or, his subconscious, using Mal's image, was right.

His mind was at war with the 'was this a good idea, or a bad idea- how badly will I be harmed if this goes wrong' question. It had been several months since they had become, for a lack of a better word, official. If Arthur were honest, they had been official for much, much longer.

"The reason why I'm having these dreams, the reason why I'm seeing you. It isn't about letting go of _you_ or your memory. It's about holding onto Eames."

She was smiling encouragingly at him. He was so close to the answer he could taste it…

"Because being with Eames doesn't make me less- it makes me more. It makes me better. And being together doesn't make us any more vulnerable than when we are apart- we watch each other's back."

Arthur's eyes widened, he was feeling so stupid for not getting it earlier! "I'm not afraid of becoming you, I'm afraid of losing Eames to an accident in dreamshare. The field can be dangerous and we make enemies left and right! That graveyard is never full because the threats never end."

His efforts to guard him; taking jobs from clients he had personally vetted, evaluating potential team members, making certain that no one who _dared_ to do harm to them even spat in their direction!

But it was time consuming and draining. Being so paranoid was making Arthur sleep less and less. And then, the dreams started.

This was his own fault.

"What do I do, Mal?" Arthur asked, remembering what it had been like to come to her for advice. Back when he was new but brilliant in the field of dreamshare, he'd sit at her side and listen to her talk about life and love and dreams.

"I want you to go back to Eames, now," Mal was saying as she laid herself down on the ocean floor. The ground was cracking around her, shifting and moving, the sand and rock loosening as if a new grave was being dug.

Arthur reached for her, ready to grasp her hand and pull her out- saving her, helping her. Looking after her had been second nature. But she gently batted his hands away.

"You've done all you can, darling. It's time to get on with your life. Your future is nice and bright; go back to the shore, Arthur. He's waiting for you."

Conflicted, Arthur tread water, watching as the ocean floor began to swallow her up. He imagined what it would be like to do the same, to get buried alive down in the deep water where no one would ever hear his screams. The thought made him shiver.

Arthur's next breath came less easily, then the next, and the next. He was losing the ability to breath under the water!

He held his breath and began to swim away, not looking back, just returning to the surface as quickly as he could manage while avoiding the lingering sharks.

* * *

Eames had relocated. He chose a spot on the beach near to where Arthur had dove in. He didn't bother to count the minutes.

He dreamed up a bucket and was sitting near enough to the water that it wasn't a bother to build castles out of the wet sand. He worked steadily, thinking of the things Arthur would make; he was the better architect.

As if called by his thoughts, Arthur's head popped up out of the water. The point man had to take several deep breaths of air before he looked around to see how far out he was. When he spotted Eames on the beach, he waved and began swimming in his direction. Thankfully, the distance was short.

Emerging from the water, shaking the seawater out of this now loose and gel-free hair, Arthur walked onto the beach, manifesting a large beach towel out of thin air.

There were plenty of things Eames wanted to say- things like, _I was worried you might stay down there and build a kingdom under the sea_ or _no oxygen, you were down there for so long without oxygen!  
_

What Eames actually said was, "I think your little swim trunks are adorable."

As if only just remembering what he was wearing, Arthur looked down at said adorable swim trunks. They were paisley.

"I was thinking of you when I made the transition from _a man made of birds_ to _just a_ _man_. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be naked for my conversation with my Mal projection."

Arthur sat down on the sand next to Eames, wearing the towel like a cloak.

Eames was itching to ask him what he had learned, what Mal had said. But he waited for Arthur to be ready.

"She's gone. She buried herself on the ocean floor."

Eames scooped up another bucket of wet sand, turned it over and pressed it into the sand before him. He twisted it a few times and then pulled the bucket up, revealing the perfect pillar of wet sand. There were others nearby- he'd decorated them with bits of shells, pretty rocks, and seaweed.

"She's sleeping with the fishes?"

"For now," Arthur agreed, looking out at the calm waves, enjoying the sun on his damp skin and hair. "She helped me figure it out. I know what's wrong."

Eames stopped what he was doing and gave Arthur all of his attention.

"I'm worried about our future. Our safety. That's the conflict- I wanted you, I wanted you so very badly and now that I have you I'm faced with a different problem. How to keep you safe. That graveyard was my trying to resolve the issue of not being able to fight everyone."

"You've been worried."

Arthur stopped himself from shrugging it off like it was nothing. It wasn't, and it would be better if he just owned up to that.

"Yeah. I've been worried. I know that we don't work the safest jobs, but nothing is going to be safe all the time. We could be murdered, we could die in an accident. But that's life."

Eames nodded, understanding it a little better now. Life and its many unknowns were terrifying, but for Arthur who had to have a plan for everything, it must have been maddening. "You haven't been able to sleep. Then Mal just pops up in your dreams as this representation of one of the many things that could possibly go wrong in our line of work."

Arthur sighed and lay down on the sand, looking up that the clouds overhead, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand.

"Before getting into the business, they should give warnings."

Eames lay down next to Arthur, turning his head to enjoy the point man's side profile. " _Don't fall in love with a dreamer._ "

Arthur smirked. " _Caution: in this line of work, death threats are numerous._ "

" _Those lacking an imagination need not apply._ "

" _When we said Limbo we_ did not _mean the party game or dance._ "

They both cracked up at the last one, trying to catch their breath and get back to the topic at hand.

"Please, don't tell me you want to break up," Eames said.

"I'm not an idiot, Eames. What good would there be in breaking up with you? It won't change the fact that I love you or that there may or may not be people gunning for you. But, I also know that if that happens, they'll have to go through me first."

Eames snorted. "The feeling is more than mutual, darling. This is something we're going to have to trust each other on. We can't predict everything, we can't know everything, so the best we can do is protect each other to the best of our ability."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, turning to look at Eames with a very serious expression on his face. "We're the best, Eames. I think that we'll do fine if we don't get cocky. We need to be vigilant and careful."

Eames nodded, satisfied with the solution. "This is good. You'll be able to sleep without bad dreams, you won't have to worry about Cobb spotting a projection of Mal in your mind, and we can continue being the best dream team."

Arthur stretched and then closed his eyes, covering his eyes with his hands. He smirked to himself for a moment and then turned his head in Eames's direction.

"What do I remind you of?"

Arthur was sure that Eames was rolling his eyes. "That wasn't funny, Arthur."

The point man uncovered his eyes, blinking them open and smiling for Eames.

"It was fucking hilarious!" He played at being frightened, grabbing Eames's arm and shaking it. " _Don't blink!_ " Arthur said, mimicking Eames.

"You're terrible."

"And you're afraid of statues."

"The Weeping Angels aren't just statues. They are terrifying humanoid energy-sucking predators that _look_ like statues. Like I said before, I would have preferred zombies."

Arthur made a gun appear out of thin air. "Let's just go home, okay? You have no idea what I'd do for a nap."

At first, Eames was going to make a terrible flirty comment. But he changed his mind. After everything that Arthur had been putting himself through, he felt the man needed a break- no work, no worry, just something comforting.

They'd start with an actual nap, no PASIV involved.


End file.
